Allure from Basque - Love Stories

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Adult Romance  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by willnorman

verb: to entice or tempt someone.
noun: attractiveness, appeal.
allure: the power a woman has over a man
from my second anthology: Basque - Love Stories on Amazon
NOW LIVE at my new Patreon Page (only $5 a month, go on, spoil yourself!) featuring sensational Isla McNair


verb: to entice or tempt someone.

noun: attractiveness, appeal.

allure: the power a woman has over a man.

I was working as a server in Eva’s eco-green café and bar when we met. Eva’s was all-organic, the trendiest place in the high street. From the outside, it looked like a private house: white-washed walls, jet-black door, brass knocker, bay windows on either side. The café was dingy on the inside. A lurid pink neon sign screamed Eva! at the rear wall, painted-white tables, and chairs. The menu was a wall-sized blackboard. Straight ahead was a ladies’ toilet and a small kitchen where Eva toiled to make her living. Eva smoked, a lot, in the tiny brick-walled back garden. I manned the bar, served food, cleared tables. In the summer, we had stackable tables and chairs outside on the pavement.

But it wasn’t summer. It was early spring. The sky was overcast with patchy rain. I watched the absent sunset through the drizzled window, then walked past all the empty tables to the bar.

Other than Friday and Saturday evenings, when we were packed to the rafters, Eva’s wasn’t busy. We were busier in the mornings and lunchtimes when we offered our discerning female clientele hand-made smoothie bowls, invigorating herbal cocktails, wholesome vegan tapas on boards, delicious home-baked vegan cakes, and organic coffee. Thursday evenings were dead. We didn’t serve food. I manned the bar, served drinks, cleared tables. Eva caught up with her admin.

It was Thursday evening, last light, when she walked in out of the rain. Her hair was streaked with wet. She removed her dripping hooded mocha puffer jacket, shook it off, and scooted past me to the toilet, without giving me so much as a glance. I couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a revealing pink floral print open-backed wrap bodysuit, tight high-waisted light blue riot mom jeans, and white trainers. Shaken, but unstirred, I turned around to polish the glasses.

We offered our customers a choice of exotic cocktails, select organic beers, or vegan wine.

I heard her voice: soft, syrupy, sensuous, prompting me to serve her. Suppressed my cough.

I turned to face her, asked her what she wanted to drink. She told me she wanted Sex on the Beach.

I smiled, don’t we all?

She had that rare allure of a woman who knows she is beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. I pulled down bottles of vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry, orange juice, and set them on the counter before her with a jug and glass.

She raised her brows a smidgeon, pursing her lips in the most divine pout, brushing the thick mane of damp auburn hair off her face. I was beguiled by her. So mesmerized, I knocked over her glass. It rolled towards her doughy hand. Strange, that she had such old hands for a young woman. She stood the tall glass up on its base and laughed at me,

‘I think you need another one, don’t you?’

Hungrily, I prised the glass out of her hand. My fingertips felt her softness,

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she soothed.


‘I said, don’t be. I want you to share a drink with me. I’m celebrating tonight.’

‘I can’t, staff aren’t allowed to.’

She stared at me intently with her clear almond eyes. Her eyelashes were perfectly stiffened: spiked hairs with mascara. She fluttered her eyelids innocently at me. I felt myself go weak at the knees. She placed her hand on mine, rubbing my mound of Venus with her wrinkled thumb,

‘Save it for later, eh?’ she murmured.

I nodded my appreciation, filling her glass with cracked ice, mixing her drink in a frenzy,

‘What are we celebrating?’ I asked inquisitively.

‘My first modelling assignment.’

I divided the blend between our glasses, stirring gently, probing her avidly, my pulse racing,

‘Your first modelling assignment?’

She smiled a delectable, knowing smile. She giggled at me childishly,

‘I’m going to model: topless, lingerie, swimsuits.’

Her wrap had come undone at the front. My jaw dropped. My heart raced. I gibbered,



I gushed in stupid admiration, ‘Oh, well done you!’

She blushed, staring at her hands resting like kitten’s paws on the polished wooden counter,

‘Thank you.’

I garnished her drink with orange slices, unscrewed a jar of red maraschino cocktail cherries,

‘Would you like one, or two, cherries?’

‘Oh, two I think, don’t you?’

I dispensed two cherries and handed her the glass. I charged her. She paid in cash. I marvelled as she took her plastic skewer, fished in her glass, spiked each cherry, and sucked them off one at a time. Then she ate the flesh of the orange, passing me her rind, and swallowed her whole Sex on the Beach in one. She gasped for breath. I covered my mouth and coughed,

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, pouring myself a tumbler of water, sipping, ‘I’ve had this ticklish cough.’

Her mood changed. Her face clouded with concern. She moved away from me,

‘How long have you had it for?’

‘About a week. It comes and goes. Why?’

She didn’t answer. Instead, she felt inside her jeans, drew out a scrappy card, and left it on the counter. On the card was her number and motif. She pulled on her puffer jacket, zipped it up, went to leave,

‘Call me when your cough has gone,’ she said, ‘Take care of yourself, and stay safe.’

I watched her go. Didn’t think straight. In my state of bewilderment, I forgot to ask her name.

Eva’s eco-green café and bar closed on Friday evening and hasn’t reopened. I lost my job. The cough got worse. By Saturday morning, I couldn’t breathe. I rang 111 and was admitted to hospital. My condition worsened. I was sedated, connected to a respirator. I didn’t regain consciousness until Thursday evening on the last day of April. The doctors and nurses were incredible. Had it not been for their intervention I would have died. They restarted my heart five times.

My heart.

I was discharged from the hospital last week. Self-isolation feels very lonely when you’re frail and weak. I can’t leave my bedsit.  Don’t want to. I’m frightened to go out. The weather reflects my mood: dull and overcast with patchy rain.

This isn’t summer, is it? I sit and watch the absent sunset through the drizzled window, then stare at the A4 buff envelope that waited for me on the doormat when I arrived home. I can’t bring myself to open it. It’s from her! I know it is. Instead, I take her calling card out of my pyjama pocket, find my phone - and dial her number.

‘Call me when the cough has gone,’ she said, ‘Take care of yourself, and stay safe.’

The number is disconnected.

My heart sinks.

Carefully, I open the buff envelope, sliding out the glossy colour photos. Her first pose shows her wearing a skimpy turquoise swimsuit slashed as high as her waist. She pulls down the front of her swimsuit to give me a tantalising glimpse of her breasts. She looks sensational. I force myself to stare at her other pose.

She watches me intently with her clear almond eyes. She is topless, wearing black lingerie. Her breasts are stunning, breath-taking, perfectly rounded, with flat almond nipples. I weaken. My heart nearly dies in my chest. I drop the card, her motif:

Save me for later.

There is a soft knock at the door.

I can’t bring myself to open it.

It’s her, I know it is!

My destiny!

Submitted: November 22, 2022

© Copyright 2022 harriet jacqui furl. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Of course, it must be! Your readers are willing it to be her. Wonderful beginning and hence....the allure.

Tue, November 22nd, 2022 3:42pm


Thank you so much, Will!

I'm trialling the audio-visual version on Patreon - (patrons pay $5 a month / £5 a month to listen, read, see, but I'm not holding my breath!)

Meanwhile. there's more on the way, here!

HJ x

Tue, November 22nd, 2022 2:01pm

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